Moving on
by randomfandomwriter
Summary: High school AU. Arthur and Francis have two sons, but only want one of them. Matthew, who knows this, goes to live with Michelle Williams who becomes his mother in Wilmot, Canada. Alfred is crushed. Gilbert lives in Wilmot and the two teens become friends, and maybe more. Pretty sad at the beginning, but gets happier. FACE family PruCan [Prussia x Canada] I have no idea what genre.
1. Unwanted

_**AN: Thanks for choosing to read this! It was a little plot bunny I had after reading lilredd3394 's fanfic 'Unwanted'. I'm pretty bad at dialogue so there isn't much, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Please R+R, It would make me super happy. I already posted this on DA, so if you recognize it that's probably why.**_

_**Francis: France  
Arthur/Angleterre: England/Britain/Uk  
Alfred/Freddie: America/U.S.A.  
Matthew/Matt/Mathieu: Canada Felix: Poland**_

_**I'm only saying this once: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters a fore mentioned. **_

Chapter 1: Unwanted

Arthur and Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland looked at the small toddlers, Alfred and Matthew, their new sons. That was many years ago. Both boys were now in high school, one loud and charismatic, the other shy and practically mute.

The fresh snow glowed in the dim light of the streetlamps. The deep night was clouded, leaving the sky black and uniform. It was quiet, the soothing yet eerie silence that can only occur after a storm. A single light poured from a lower window in a small house on an otherwise torpid block.

"Why do we keep him around, Francis?" Arthur asked as he sipped his tea, "He's more useless than Alfred."

"He's our son, Angleterre." Francis replied, gazing into his wine glass, "As much as we don't want to accept it, Mathieu is our son."

"He's so bloody useless." the Brit repeated "He's always looking for us or Alfred to help him, but won't even help us in turn when we ask him."

"I know." Francis said, turn his gaze to his husband, "But we can't just tell him we don't want him as our son anymore." Arthur's grin was chilling. He looked past the slightly older man.

"We don't have to." Francis froze. His sky blue eyes widening as he turned to see Matthew. There was no sadness or anger or pain on his face, nor any confusion. It was blank. Not a single emotion adorned the young teenager's features. "Mathieu I-" The Frenchman started only to be cut off by a calm, dead voice.

"You what, Francis?" the boy asked, "You're sorry? You should be. You didn't mean it? Don't give me that bullshit." his voice was still as emotionless as if it was typed words on a page, being read by an English teacher during last period. "You meant every word. You think it all the time. And this isn't the first time you've said it. You wish I never came into your life, that I would just disappear. So I will. Come tomorrow, you'll never see or hear me again. Merry Christmas." With that he plucked an apple off the counter, nonchalant as if he had just commented on a baseball game, and walked up the stairs.

The couple sat for a moment, one bewildered, and trying to figure out what had just happened, the other smirking, glad the useless idiot known as Matthew had finally gotten the hint, and was leaving. Minutes passed, and footsteps were heard on the stairs. They were not Alfred's heavy clomping, which suggested a herd of elephants, rather than a 15-year-old, but they were clearly audible, unlike Matthew's usual footsteps. Francis stood, just in time to see the older twin at the front door. He pulled on a bright red coat, black hat and gloves. At his feet were two large red suitcases, and a black backpack. The youth tossed his keys into the clay bowl, and walked out of that door, and their lives, forever.

Alfred awoke to the smell of burning. That wasn't right, something in him said. Today was Saturday. Saturday meant Matt's pancakes. Matt's pancakes meant waking to a delicious aroma that drew him from his bed with warm tendrils of promising goodness, so that it was as if some magic was summoning him to the kitchen for the most heavenly substance to ever exist on Earth. This was not that sweet, sweet, perfume. It was an odor, foul and vile, the kind that could only be, Arthur's cooking.

Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust, stumbling from his bed, to find why he was not beckoned by tantalizing scents. The first place to look would be the kitchen, so that is where he went. As the teen reached his door he saw a pale yellow sticky note secured just at eye-level. On it, in soft, neat handwriting was a note.

_'Dear Alfred,_

_You will never see me again._

_Pancakes are in the fridge, behind the escargot._

_Toss them in the microwave, and don't share them with Papa._

_I love you, and hope your life is better without me there to hold you back._

_XOXO_

_-Matthew_

Alfred threw open the door and ran to Matthew's room, giving that door the same treatment. It looked like a hotel room. Clean. Unlived. The bed was made and the desk was clear. When he checked, the closet and dresser were empty. The only area with any personality was a shelf, tucked in a corner. On it were pictures. All of them had Arthur or Francis. A few also had Alfred and Matthew, but the ones of just the two of them were gone.

The blonde boy needed answers. Now. He walked to the kitchen in dazed silence. Arthur was pulling what appeared to be charcoal from the oven. "Good morning, Alfred." He greeted.

"Where's Matt?" Ask no questions, get no answers.

"Would you care for a scone?" It was as if the man hadn't heard him.

"Where's Matt?" He asked again, his voice colder and piercing.

"Gone." was the simple reply, "We didn't want him. He finally caught on and left. We never have to look at his face again." It was sad to admit, but Arthur Kirkland had inherited his older brothers' abusive ways, only he used words, rather than fists.

"WHAT?!" Alfred exclaimed, his face extremely pale. It was starting to make sense. The note, the scones. But . . . that couldn't . . . _couldn't_ be right. The teenager stepped backwards, then turned and fled to his room. Closing and locking the door behind him. Collapsing on his bed, Alfred F. Bonnefoy-Kirkland curled into a ball and cried.

The airport was busy, for one in the morning. It was three days before Christmas, and some people preferred the cheaper night tickets. Matthew waited outside terminal six, thinking. When he had told his Pa- Francis that that wasn't the first conversation like that they had had, he wasn't guessing. It started almost a year and a half ago.

_14-year-old Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland slipped in through the front door, for once hoping not to be noticed. He was late, and he had a black eye and bruised ribs. After school, his brother had gone home on the bus. Matthew had missed it. He sighed and just began walking home. When he rounded the corner of the school building, three older boys grabbed him. They thought that he was Alfred, who owed them money. Before poor Matthew had time to explain, that he 'wasn't Alfred, just his identical twin brother' they punch and kicked him, before turning and walking away. _

_"-so stupid." His dad's voice drifted through the hall. "He can't even manage to be home on time. What a worthless child."_

_"Arthur!" That was Papa, "How can you say that? Mathieu is a wonderful, sweet, kind boy. Our son!"_

Conversations like this became a regular occurrence. Every two or three weeks Matthew would hear his dad say how horrible he was, and slowly his Papa began to agree with him. Matthew knew it was purposeful; several times, his dad looked at him, and smirked. That was always when he left. At first he cried. A lot. He got better and better at masking his tears, his pain. The first time Francis had fully admitted how useless Matthew was, that was when he knew it was time to leave. He began looking for people who would adopt him. He started with his extended family, his dad had practically been disowned for reasons undisclosed to Matt, but he tried his luck. After only a month, which felt like forever to Matthew, he was given the phone number of Michelle Williams.

She was his cousin's, cousin's, dad's, friend's, friend. It was just as confusing as it sounds. But she was unmarried and wanted a son. Between her and Matthew, the paperwork was filed, and she gained custody. They Skyped often and he had already begun to call her 'Mom'. Matthew had been working since the summer between 7th and 8th grade, full time in the summers, part time during the school year, so he had enough money for a new phone, and a plane ticket to Wilmot, Ontario, where Michelle lived.

It had taken three months since his papa first fully agreed with his dad, but Matthew was going to run away, forever. He had worked hard that day. Being as helpless and annoying as possible, ensuring that his fathers would have another 'talk' so that he could give his closing speech. He couldn't help it; Matthew loved meaningful poems and speeches.

A few forlorn tears slipped down his cheeks. They were not for his past life, or for his fathers. They were for Alfred. For the brother he would never see again.

"Like, why are you crying?" the question came from beside him. Matthew turned to see a teen about his age, with blonde hair almost to the shoulder, and lively green eyes. It was impossible to tell this person's gender, the voice was too deep to be feminine, but had a pronounced 'valley-girl' accent. "I'm Felix." He? Yes he, said, extending a hand in greeting.

"M-Matthew" he replied, grasping the offered hand.

"So Waterloo? Living, visiting or passing through?" Felix was referring to their flight, from Washington State to Waterloo, Ontario.

"I'm going to, um, Wilmot."

"Oh yeah, I have an aunt who lives in there, small world huh?" Felix let out a bright, bubbly, laugh. It was almost obnoxious, like Alfred's. Alfred. Another tear made its way down Matthew's pale cheek. "Whoa! Dude! Like why are you crying?" He thought for a moment, Felix was a complete stranger. He couldn't just tell him his life's story, now could he? _Could_ he? Why not? And with that they began to chat, at first about the heavier matters of Matthew's life and then about random nothings. It was quite enjoyable. By the time they boarded the plane, both boys were nearly asleep on their feet, so they bit each other goodnight and slept. For the first time in almost a year and a half, Matthew had a dream, instead of a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Consequences

It was three in the afternoon when Alfred finally dragged himself out of bed. No matter how sad and angry he was, he needed food. Slumping down the stairs, he made his way over to the fridge. Remembering the note, Alfred dug the pancakes out of the back, tossed them into the microwave and drowned them in maple syrup. Just the way Matt always liked them. Tears slipped down his already stained face. Matt was technically older by three days, due to complications during their birth, but Alfred always considered him a 'baby brother' and had promised to protect him, always. He had failed. He didn't protect Matt, he didn't even notice the sadness that his poor brother must have felt for who knows how long.

Alfred ate the slices of heaven as slowly as he possibly could, wishing to savor every last bit of the last meal Matt had left for him. Arthur entered the kitchen; nothing about him would even suggest the horrible things he had said. It disgusted Alfred. This man felt no guilt, or if he did, he didn't feel _nearly_ enough. Alfred sent him a death glare, picked up his pancakes and went to his bedroom. Clearing a place in the middle of his desk, the blue-eyed boy set his plate down and stared at it, as if looking at it hard enough would reveal where Matt had gone.

An idea sprang to his mind. Grabbing his cell phone, Alfred punched in a number he knew like the back of his hand. It didn't even ring before it played; "This was the phone of Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland. I will not be answering at any time, so don't bother leaving a message. Alfred, if this is you, I love you, but forget about me and move on with your life. If this is Francis or Arthur" He said the name with disgust, "you had no right to even _try _to call me, rot in hell, you loathsome swine. BEEEEP"

"Matt?" Alfred said desperately into the receiver, "You probably won't get this but I miss you, okay? Where are you? Why did you leave? Please come home. I love you. Bye." He sighed, so much for that plan. After standing aimlessly for a moment, Alfred decided that, perhaps, some television would keep his mind off the internal pain. He flopped into his soft bean-bag and felt something hard pressing into his back. Using his left arm, the blonde reached behind himself and grabbed a small box, wrapped in Prussian blue tissue paper, and tied with white ribbon. The blonde boy opened it slowly, unsure of what to expect. In his palm lay a mid-sized black ring box. Confused and hesitant, Alfred lifted the lid carefully, as if he expected whatever was inside to jump out and bite him. There it sat, overt ageist the white satin, shining in the afternoon sun. A simple gold cross hung on a thin gold chain. Alfred recognized it instantly. Matthew had been given the cross by their grandmother.

_Matthew, clad in an unwrinkled tuxedo, walked toward the woman in the wheel chair. Today was special for him, he was getting confirmed. The elderly woman stared up at him calculatingly. _

_ "Bend down, child. I have something for you." Brianna Kirkland's features portrayed a rare genuine smile as she handed Matthew the delicate chain, and stayed true as he pulled back his jaw-length blonde hair and fastened the necklace around his neck. _

_ Three days later, Brianna Kirkland died. Matthew had worn the cross every day since, along with their grandfather's military Purple Heart. _

"Please return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seat belts, the plane will be landing soon. Thank you."

Matthew glanced around blearily. After a few moments of morning amnesia did as the attendant instructed over the intercom, making sure all of his belongings were packed and ready. He was here, he was finally here.

The large glass doors to the international terminals slid open, as he stepped through, Matthew left behind his old life, allowing it to join all his other soon to be forgotten memories. When the boy looked around he was expecting to see his new mother. He was not expecting to see her holding an oversized sign reading "WELCOME HOME MATT!" He smiled happily. This really was home.

A woman, in her late-twenties, with glossy, curling brown hair, caring dusty silver eyes, a soft chin, and arched eyebrows. Her nose was slightly bulbous, but she was still quite beautiful. She wore no makeup, and there were negligible bags under her eyes, suggesting that she had been sleeping recently. Her name was Michelle Williams, and today she was meeting her son face to face for the first time. She was as excited as any new mother, and grinned enthusiastically.

The airport was not crowded, so Michelle had no problem spotting a boy with silken blonde hair, glasses perched on his delicate nose. She waved the enormous sign she carried, hoping to catch his attention. Matthew looked towards her and grinned joyously, hastening over to her side.

Michelle stood patiently at the extensive doors to the international terminals. It was a bit of a hassle, but customs were customs. Even though it was still early in the morning, the sun just breaking over the dusty hoisin, people trickled out sporadically. The 31-year-old scanned the group; it really couldn't be called a crowd. She clutched the large sign I her hands, trying to spot her new son. Catching a glimpse of undulant blond hair she waved it above her head, smiling brightly.

"How was your flight?" Her voice was musical and rich.

"Not bad, I slept through most of it." They stood for an awkward moment before she laughed and suggested they head to her car. The ride was stiff and quiet, neither party quite knowing what to say. The blue pick-up slowed to a stop in front of a two story cream colored home with russet trimming. Matthew yawned widely.

"Why don't I show you your room and give you the grand tour later, after we've both had some more sleep." Michelle suggested friendly. Matt smiled sheepishly and nodded. They each took a suitcase and Matt grabbed his backpack. The two entered the modest house and she led him to a fair-sized room, it had off white walls with a pine desk, dresser, and bed, with Tiffany blue bedding and curtains on the clean windows. Matt thanked his mother and proceeded to flop onto his bed. It was extremely comfortable, probably memory foam.

Several hours later Matt's eyelids glided open. He blinked, slowly coming to his senses. The alluring aroma of bacon drifted to his nose and made his stomach rumble. Stretching, Matt rolled out from under the incredibly warm blankets and stumbled to the door. He followed his nose to a humble but modern kitchen, with walls and counters in neutral, earthy tones. "Good morning." Michelle greeted from the stove,

"Morning" He replied. Michelle turned, placing a steaming plate of bacon in front of him as he sat on a tall stool. Matt picked up a piece and blew on it before placing it in his mouth experimentally. Matt had never eaten bacon before, Arthur couldn't cook anything edible, and the rare times that Francis had made it, Alfred had devoured it all before it was even on the table. The crispy, marbled strip had an indescribably wonderful taste on Matt's tongue. His face split into a wide smile. "Like it?" Michelle asked, amused.

"It's delicious!" Matt responded enthusiastically.

After breakfast she gave him a tour, the house was nothing too fancy, but was stylish and had a homely feel. It had three bedrooms, Michelle's, Matt's and a guest, two bathrooms, a living room with a fireplace, the kitchen, a dining room, and Matt's favorite, a sun porch that had been converted into an art studio, with large easels and every color of paint imaginable.

A festive Christmas tree was set up in the living room and two days later Matt unwrapped a new pair of ear buds, the best present he had gotten in years. He gave Michelle a soft, fashionable, sweater with roses embroidered on the hems. That night was the most terrific either of them had had in a long time. A few days later Matt went to bed excited and nervous for the morning, his first day at a new school.

**_AN: Thank you for reading. I know it's pretty short but this will be about average chapter length, sorry. Please review if you have any questions or critiques or anything like that. _**

_**Francis: France**_  
_**Arthur/Angleterre: England/Britain/Uk**_  
_**Alfred/Freddie: America/U.S.A.**_  
_**Matthew/Matt/Mathieu: Canada**_  
_**Michelle: not a Hetalia character or OC, just a woman.**_

_**Does anyone have a suggestion for a title for this chapter?**_

_**Thanks again, please R+R.**_


	3. New Kid

Chapter 3: New Kid

The loud harsh beeping broke through any dreams the teenager might have been having. He groaned and slapped at the clock lazily until his pale hand finally came in contact with the much beloved snooze button. Nine minutes passed far too fast, and the obnoxious noise again blared through the room. Rolling out of bed arduously the boy turned the alarm off. He stumbled to the mirror, taking in his tired red eyes and bedraggled white hair. Why do I have to go to school? He thought to himself with resent. The first day back after break was always the worst, and Gilbert was convinced that this semester would be just like all the others, boring.

Gilbert grunted and stumbled to the bathroom. He tumbled into the shower and let the ridiculously hot water run over his skin in caressing waves of comfort. Feeling more awake, the youth dried and dressed himself. He slid on ripped blue jeans, they were once very dark, but time and use had faded the color and frayed the edges. The T-shirt he opted for was black with a white eagle bordered in crimson. It fit perfectly, hugging him in just the right places, accenting his lean muscle. Quickly Gilbert fastened his iron cross around his neck, and then moved on to the herculean task of his hair. He brushed and combed the frosty locks into an ordered mess atop his head; the whole ensemble was quite attractive.

The stairs creaked loudly as Gil tromped down them. The house was nice, but old. Built during the late Victorian era, it was mid-sized and elegant, yet simple and refine. The entire house was almost unnaturally clean, especially considering that two teenage boys lived there, but OCD ran in Gil's family. The messiest room in the house was Gil's bedroom, because it didn't sparkle and had dust in the corners, but everything was put away and his close were neatly folded.

When gilbert paraded into the kitchen, he noticed his brother already eating breakfast. Ludwig had short silky blond hair and dazzling blue eyes (not that Gil would ever say that) and was built like an ox. While it was true that some of that muscle came from working out, most of it was from the intense labor the youngest Beilschmidt put into the farm he had been hired to run just outside of town. Gil was quite proud and a little envious of his younger brother but no one would know that if he could help it.

The dry cereal plinked into the bowl, splashing about as milk was added. The brothers ate in silence until they heard their grandfather entered the kitchen.

"Gute Morgen, Opa" They chorused, before glancing at each other and smirking. Well Gil smirked; Ludwig's face was as stoic as ever. Honestly, very few people would guess they were brothers, they looked and acted nothing alike. Ludwig looked just like their grandfather, only with short hair and pure blue eyes, whereas Opa had long hair and his eyes had a greenish tint.

After they had finished eating the boys rinsed their dishes and put them in the dishwasher. They walked up the stairs and brushed their teeth. Despite being nothing alike in looks or personality, their morning routines were eerily similar. At exactly 7:30 they both left the house with a synonymous cry of "Auf Wiedersehen, Opa."

The walked into the school at 7:48, three minutes off schedule, to Ludwig's horror. They still had 12 minutes until class started so Gil didn't really care. Heading to his locker he saw his friend Daniel Héderváry.

"Hey Lizzy!" Gil called. When he was younger, Daniel was convinced he was a girl, he wore dresses and did ballet, a fact which Gil found endlessly amusing and mocked him for any time he could. He was rewarded with the finger and an incredibly rude response. Gil simply laughed his strange laugh that sounded more like 'Kesesesese' than a laugh. The two joined together and talked a bit about their breaks until Danny spotted his girlfriend and practically skipped over to her. Gil watched Sophia yell at her boyfriend for a moment before they kissed quickly, and walked to their first class.

Grabbing his things Gil headed off to his own first hour, social studies with Mr. Nelson. That was defiantly his favorite class, he was good at history and Mr. Nelson had a weird sense of humor and tried to keep the class as interesting as possible. Gil would have looked about for his best friend, but he knew that Antonio was in Spain staying with relatives and wouldn't be back for several months. Antonio was a cheerful, hyper, bubbly Spanish boy, who, Gil was pretty sure didn't know how to frown. He had an obsession with a little Italian boy named Lovino, whose brother was Ludwig's best friend, and, in Gil's opinion, a bit more.

At 8:07 Mr. Nelson called everyone to attention, "Look," he said, "We'll be getting a new student tomorrow, so I want you all to be nice. Even you Allistor." The boy mentioned made a noise of mock outrage, "I'm _always_ nice." He insisted; bringing a laugh from the whole class. Allistor Kirkland was a known trouble maker, not even bothering to try to hide that he smoked during lunch. Like Gil and Ludwig, Allistor and his sister Alice looked and acted nothing alike, he was held back twice in high school alone, she was the student president and would most likely be Valedictorian in her year.

The class was talking loudly, Wilmot was a small town, the last time someone had moved to the town was several years ago, everyone was curious about the new student. Mr. Nelson didn't even bother trying to get them focused again, and just let them talk for the rest of the hour.

"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" The girl next to Gil asked her friend.

"If it's a boy I hope he's cute!" The other squealed. Gil decided to tune everyone out and plugged in his headphones setting his iPod to shuffle. The first song to come up was 'Heaven Knows' by the Pretty Reckless, he didn't even know he had this on his iPod, but with 5,000 songs, was he really expected to know _all_ of them?

The conversations of the day all revolved around the new student, rumors were everywhere, one said that they were from NYC, another that they had been in a street gang and was being sent to Wilmot to get their act together, the gossip spread about like the plague, and Gil had to wonder where people had gotten their information, some of the stuff was pretty ridiculous. True or not, the information spread and by the end of the day the excitement and tension was almost thick enough to be cut with a knife.

The teachers didn't bother assigning homework, they knew that the first day back was super hard and the news just made everyone even less focused, plus they themselves were curious about the new student, though they wouldn't show it.

When Gil got home that afternoon he dumped his nearly empty backpack at the foot of his desk and flipped open his laptop. After hearing so much, probably false, information, he wanted to do some research. The albino decided to start with a simple Google search. Gilbert was an amazing eavesdropper, and listen to just about everything that was said. Not that anyone knew this of course, he would go to great lengths to make his classmates think he never paid attention, and only Opa would know that he was excelling in all of his classes. He took online math, more advanced than the high school offered, but made sure his peers believed they were remedial courses.

Because he was practically a ninja at information gathering, he knew the new student's name was Matthew J. Williams. Unfortunately, Matthew Williams appeared to be a common name, and Lady Gaga's boyfriend, who Gilbert was quite certain was _not_ coming to their school. He sighed, trying to search Facebook with similar results, and got up to begin making dinner, or rather, making Ludwig make dinner.

_**AN: Enter, Gilbert Beilschmidt! Yay! I finally added him to the story! In my belief, Gil still holds the Prussian Virtues but doesn't want anyone to think he's a nerd or a 'goodie two shoes'. I tried Googling Matthew Williams and it is a very common name, but otherwise i would have made it so that Matthew didn't have an online profile because he just changed his last name and stuff. **_

_**I'm sorry it's so short and I promise I'm still writing so I'll try to have the next one up soon. I'm really sorry it took so long for this chapter, I had it finished a while ago and didn't realize I didn't post it. The next one is about halfway done, thank you so much to the people who followed or reviewed this. **_

_**In no particular order, the characters in this chapter:**_  
_**Gilbert/Gil: Prussia**_  
_**Ludwig: Germany**_  
_**Antonio: Spain**_  
_**Allistor: **_**_Scotland_**  
_**Alice: fem!England**_  
_**Daniel/Lizzy: male!Hungary**_  
_**Sophia: fem!Austria**_  
_**Opa: Germainia (also grandpa in German) **_  
_**Lovino: S. Italy**_  
_**Lovino's brother: N. Italy**_

_**And of course, Mr. Nelson was my 8th grade social studies teacher. His full name is William Charles Nelson III, but we all just called him Chuck, it's a lot more fitting. **_

_**Wilmot is actually the closest town to New Prussia, Canada, and is really really tiny. In this story, however, I think that the high school has maybe 50 students per grade, but all the classes are mixed grade so you deal with all the other students.**_

_**Thank you so much, please R+R.**_


	4. First Day

**_AN: to those who followed or reviewed this story: I can not possibly thank you enough. I was feeling a bit unmotivated for this story but your approval made me super happy and want to continue to write it. I'll try to have the next chapter faster, and it might actually happen because I have a few ideas for it._**

Chapter 4: First Day

The red brick building loomed over Matthew, making him even more nervous than before. The new snow glistened and sparkled in the morning sun, revealing tromped down areas where groups of friends had ventured off the shoveled sidewalk. Taking a deep breath he stepped through the black metal doors and viewed the inside of his new school for the first time. It was quite unremarkable really. Humming tube bulbs illuminated cream walls lined with dull blue lockers and plastered with cheesy school spirit posters. The doors were wooden with clouded windows so people couldn't see in, why they did that was a mystery to Matthew, but it was not uncommon in schools he had seen.

Several of the doors were open, and Matthew noticed a small plaque labeling one of them the 'office'. Matthew entered and found a decent sized room with a copier, printer, and paper cutter set behind a surly looking secretary.

"Can I help you?" She asked in a bored voice,

"Uh," he replied eloquently "I'm Matthew Williams, I'm new here."

"Ah, of course." She muttered before turning to the old computer in front of her and typing something, "Do you have your schedule?"

"Um, yeah," This was extremely awkward for the shy boy who was unsure of what he was supposed to do.

"Well your homeroom teacher will be Mr. Nelson, please follow me." The blonde haired woman stood and Matthew was surprised at how short she was, coming just past his elbow as she bustled him out of the room.

The pair walked to the end of the hallway and turned left, into another, smaller one. The secretary turned into room 102 and walked up to a tall man with curly, unkempt hair and rough stubble. After they conversed for a moment or two he looked at the new student and grinned broadly.

"Hi," his voice was full and expressive. "I'm Mr. Nelson; you must be Matthew, right?"

"Uh, yeah that's right" He mumbled slightly

"Well I'll just leave him with you then," The short woman said, leaving, she didn't hear Matthew's faint "Thank you"

"Well, I'll show you to your locker so you can put down your things." Mr. Nelson said friendly, he grabbed something off his desk and they reentered the hallway, and Mr. Nelson led Matthew to a lock-less locker. "This'll be yours. Here's the lock and combination, I'll also have it in case you forget. Just so you know, any locker is susceptible to random searches, school policy."

"A-alright, thanks." Matthew replied in his whispery voice. Mr. Nelson smiled and walked back to his classroom, knowing Matthew would come when he was finished with his locker. The teen opened his old black backpack and brought out his supply list, for social studies he needed . . . a three subject notebook, a folder, a pencil and a planner. He also grabbed another notebook; it was a fairly old sketch book, with scraps of paper that had been tucked in between pages peeking out the sides. Inside most of the pages were filled with incredible pencil and pen drawings. Many of them depicted gruesome scenes with Matthew as a focus or peaceful, beautiful places and scenes with him cleverly concealed in the background, almost unnoticeable.

Every drawing had his signature and a date, each going in chronological order from front to back. From these drawings one could sense the mood Matthew had been in on that particular day, that is, if anyone ever saw them, which wouldn't happen if the blonde had anything to say about it. This was his refuge; his way to vent, anything he ever wanted or ever felt was in his drawings. Not necessarily in this particular notebook, he had many others, now stashed in his closet, the latest ones were the most hopeful, but even they were sporadically dark, with hints of the fear and pain the boy still felt.

Clutching his things to his chest Matthew walked back to the classroom, smiling slightly. It was about five to eight, and just over half the class was collected in the room, sitting or standing around chatting with friends. He slipped silently into an open seat by the window and gazed out onto a large green area that appeared to have the lines for both a lacrosse and football field. Real football of course, not the American sport he had dubbed 'hand-egg'. Matthew was startled out of his thoughts when a rich high voice sounded beside him.

"Oh, hello!" The girl speaking had to be a senior. She had short silvery hair held back by a golden-orange headband. She was clearly not trying to draw too much attention to herself in a simple white t-shirt and knee-length loose denim shorts, but she had one very distinct feature, her breasts were enormous. Noticing this Matthew blushed, immediately bringing his gaze back to her face. "You must be the new student," well that was blunt, "I'm Katyusha, it's a pleasure to meet you." She had an accent, but Matthew couldn't quite place it, it sounded Russian, but there was some very small difference.

"M-Matthew," He introduced himself in his usual whispery tone, to be honest, he was a bit afraid, he couldn't remember that last pleasant conversation he'd had with anyone except Alfred. "The p-pleasure is mine." The chatted for a bit, and he learned that her name was very hard for him to pronounce, much to his embarrassment, so she said he could just call her Kat, if it would be easier. Other students came and went in groups, talking to Matthew for a bit before leaving. All the attention was overwhelming the poor boy that had never really been noticed back in America. However, even under stress the blonde was a meticulous observer and noticed that almost no one he spoke to had an American or Canadian accent, most of them had thick European ones.

Matthew himself didn't do much talking but he learned names and gave out his own, listening to the others, still mistrusting of their actions. However, everyone was extraordinarily kind and no one teased or hit him. _Yet. _A voice in his mind chided. This was his best friend, a voice inside his head. It was always there for him, protecting him from the outside world, giving him someone to talk to, even though he knew he was only talking to himself.

When Mr. Nelson began class, it was 15 minutes late. He began in the most cliche why possible, buy calling Matthew up to the front to introduce himself. "U-um, my n-name is Matthew, a-and I just moved here f-from the U. S." Dang it, he was stuttering. His cheeks a brilliant red, and his eyes focused anywhere but his new classmates.

As Matthew was speaking Mr. Nelson scanned the room, trying to find a descent place for the boy to sit. Both desks beside Allistor were open, but he didn't wish to traumatize the blonde on his first day. However, Mr. Nelson soon realized that the only open seats were by the less pleasant students, big surprise. Scanning his options Mr. Nelson decided the best place was an open seat beside Lovino, a very surly Italian boy with an extreme cussing tendency. "Thank you, Matthew" He said cheerily, "Please take a seat beside Lovino, Lovino, please raise your hand."

"Why the hell should I?" A boy with a low voice asked. He had dark auburn hair with an odd, gravity defying curl. Not that Matthew was one to talk, he had a similar strand, but while his was a sort of loop, the Italian's was a curly-Q, hair shouldn't be able to do that naturally, but the little voice in his head said it was, and it was usually right. Matthew shuffled to the empty seat. He listened as Mr. Nelson went over the syllabus, the quick curious glances of his classmates not going unnoticed.

Despite his best efforts, Matthew could not remember everyone he met on that first day. He managed to find all his classes with the help of a friendly Italian boy named Feliciano who looked very much like Lovino. However they were impossible to confuse. Lovino wore a sour expression and was very disrespectful to everyone. Matthew didn't see Feli frown all day until he stubbed his toe and ran crying to a large boy with slicked back blonde hair who was built like an ox.

When he got home Matthew realized he had not drawn in his sketchbook that day. He honestly couldn't remember a time before when he had gone the school day without doodling or drawing. Smiling softly he opened to a new page and began to sketch. Soon he found himself looking at a full flower garden and ran to get some colored pencils. The finished piece was brightly colored with every shade imaginable, revealing a flower bed that one might associate with fairies and elves.

_**AN: Yeah I know its too short for the tome it took me to write, but it was a difficult chapter for me because I've gone to the same school my whole life and don't exactly remember the first day of Kindergarten. I like the idea that Matthew doesn't have trouble telling twins apart because he looks for small details in people so they seem so different to him that he can't understand how people confuse them. This probably came from people confusing him and Alfred and him looking for differences and seeing so many that he didn't understand how other people didn't see them. **_

**_This is an AN so I don't feel obligated to have good grammar. _**


	5. Acquaintances?

Chapter 5: Acquaintances

Matthew had just slipped his notebook into his backpack when there was a distinct but gentle knock on his door.

"Matthew?" His mother asked, opening the door and leaning inside, "Would you come down and set the table please?"

"Sure," he chirped sliding the colored pencils into a cup on the edge of his desk. He followed Michelle down the stairs and began to search for the plates. Realizing his predicament she smiled and asked if he could instead just keep stirring the onions she was sautéing and that she would show him where everything was kept after dinner. Matthew was an exhalent cook. Even though Arthur had been his "Father", Francis really raised him, and Matthew got all his skills from Francis, a French chef. However he didn't think of this when he began sautéing the onions, it was just force of habit; he had cooked most of his own meals for almost five years.

After a thorough tour of the kitchen Matthew caught Michelle yawning. He knew her job as a social worker could be very demanding of her energy, so he bit her goodnight with a smile and told her to get plenty of rest. Matthew himself was not very tired at all, so he looked through the large book shelf in the living room. Matthew's eye was caught by a bright red dust cover announcing the book to be The Original Illustrated Sherlock Holmes. The first story started on Page 11 with The Scandal in Bohemia, it began with a large calligraphy T, _"To Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. . ."_ So absorbed was he by the tales of Holmes' adventures that when the cuckoo clock in the hall struck eleven Matthew jumped and nearly dropped the thick volume. Realizing the time he yawned involuntarily and decided it was high time he went to bed.

When Matthew awoke in the morning it was not to the harsh beep of an alarm clock he was accustomed to, but a gentle shake on his shoulder. Rolling over he smiled at the beautiful face that belonged to his mother. Mother. He liked the sound of that.

"Morning," He said groggily tumbling out of bed to get ready for school. Matthew wasn't exactly a morning person but was much better than Alfred who resembled a zombie for a good hour after he was woken. After a quick shower Matthew dressed himself in simple worn loose jeans, and pale blue T-shirt and his favorite red sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was a size or two to big and was absolutely enormous on him when he first got it several years before. It was like a security blanket for him.

Matthew's _mother _was still getting ready when he came into the kitchen so he decided to make them both a breakfast of cheese and sausage omelets. He was half finished when Michelle entered and smiled at the nice surprise. They chatted pleasantly over breakfast and when they had finished and Matthew brushed his teeth she offered him a ride to school. He thanked her and the Car ride was filled with soft chatter and the lull of the radio on low volume.

When they reached the classic brick building Michelle bid Matthew goodbye and wished him luck at school. To the outside observer it looked as normal a scene as any, like they had been family since Matthew was born. To him, it was so much better. It was what life was supposed to be like, not what he had previously believed it was.

Matthew searched his memory for the placement of his locker, it would be incredibly embarrassing if he tried to get into someone else's by mistake. Luckily he had quite a good memory and got his things and to class with no problem. The first half of the day when rather uneventfully. Matthew still noticed people sneaking glances at him and it made him uncomfortable, he was much more accustomed to being ignored like the cracking beige paint on the walls.

When lunch came Matthew stood awkwardly by the doors to the cafeteria. The day before he had eaten with Feliciano, the blonde boy, whose name he learned was Ludwig, and a quiet Japanese boy named Kiku. They were friendly, but Matthew had felt so out of place, especially since there was definitely something more than friendship between Feliciano and Ludwig. He was looking around stiffly he recognized Katyusha, the friendly, almost Russian, girl he had spoken to the day before. She was sitting with the grumpy Italian boy, Lovino, and another boy Matthew didn't recognize. He was tall, even sitting, and seemed even taller because his dirty blonde hair was spiked a good four inches above his head if not more. They were an interesting group. Katyusha was laughing, the tall boy was chuckling lightly, and Lovino was pouting.

Matthew shuffled over and asked quietly, "C-can I sit h-here?"

"I don't know, can you?" the blonde boy deadpanned, his face completely straight.

"Uh, um- I"

"Of course you can, Matthew." Katyusha said smiling at him before glaring slightly at the boy, who looked like he was probably also a senior. "This is Lars, and I believe you already met Lovino."

"Uh, yeah, n-nice to m-meet you."

Lunched passed quickly, it was filled with meaningless chitter-chatter about random things like 1960s cars and tulip breeding. The whole thing just felt right to Matthew. It felt like he belonged, or what he assumed belonging felt like. As it turned out Matthew had sixth hour economics with Lars, and he learned quite a bit about the other students, even though his shy nature kept him from doing very much of the talking.

Truly the rest of the day was about as exciting as a normal school day. Matthew found himself sketching in seventh hour, later he recognized the smiling faces of Katyusha and Lars and the slightly less grumpy then normal face if Lovino gazing up at him form the page. They were on some kind of playground. Lovino had his arms crossed behind Katyusha who was reaching towards him as Lars looked over his shoulder slightly to the side.

Getting on the bus Matthew felt more secure than he had before, but it was still a new town, a new life that he knew nothing about.

When the bus stopped on the corner of his block Matthew and a two other boys disembarked. Matthew immediately knew Ludwig, he was hard to forget, and Matthew recognized the other from his homeroom. He had pure white hair, beautiful maroon eyes and an expression that told Matthew, "I'm the big man here, and I'm bored. Entertain me." Matthew was quite glad that there were other people at his bus stop. He hadn't taken the bus in America because if Alfred wasn't with him, often the bus wouldn't stop at his stop.

Matthew made sure to stomp the snow off his boots before he went inside and left them on the mat and his coat on one of the hooks just inside the door, by the radiator. Michelle wasn't home yet, but Matthew hadn't expected her to be. He had been assigned homework in a few of his classes and as much as he loathed it, he was the kind of person who liked to get it over with instead of letting it sit and plague his mind. He sat at the light pine desk and let his backpack fall at the feet of his chair.

Dragging his materials out of the black bag Matthew began on his homework, groaning slightly. The work itself was fairly easy, but that didn't make him want to do it any more. After about half an hour he was done and went back to the Sherlock Holmes book. He admired Sir Conan Doyle. Holmes was a genius, but he was a just a character out of Doyle's mind. If someone could think up and write for such a character Matthew believed they were all the more genius.

Matthew had just finished The Adventure of the Speckled Band when he looked at the clock and saw it was already almost six o'clock. The teenager decided to make dinner because was hungry and his mother wasn't home yet. It took quite a bit of shuffling through cabinets and drawers but Matthew managed to have fried zucchini cooking when Michelle walked through the front door. She smiled when she saw her son at the stove, humming and bouncing slightly to the music he had playing in his earbuds. She had no idea that it was hard rock beating in his ears, and found the scene quite adorable. When he tuned around the put a hot pad on the table Matthew was startled to see it already set.

"How long have you been home?" he asked his mother when she entered the kitchen in sweat pants a long-sleeved shirt and a knit shawl-blanket-sweater thing.

"About half-an-hour" she answered simply. "Is dinner ready?" her voice was sweet and slightly teasing. Dinner passed uneventfully. Matthew could get used to this, hour after hour passing unremarkably, but not boringly. It was nice, domestic. Matthew went to bed content, which was still a new feeling for him. He liked it.

Over breakfast the next day Michelle mentioned that she was sorry that hadn't spent much quality time together and that she would bring him around town that weekend. The idea was exciting to Matthew. He had seen quite a bit of the town on his bus ride to and from school, but had never really gone anywhere other than their home and the school.

When he got to school Matthew was smiling gently. The prospect of touring the town had him excited and slightly nervous, but mostly excited for the weekend. The seats they had had in homeroom were not technically assigned, but nearly everyone sat with the same people every day so they might as well have been. Matthew didn't mind that he didn't really have friends to sit with. After all, he had never had them before, why should it bother him now? Matthew exchanged a few less unfriendly than usual words with Lovino, but Matthew's shyness and Lovino's crabbiness made these few and far between.

The dull, loud clang of the bell brought Matthew's eyes to the clock above the classroom door which proclaimed there to be thirteen minutes left in class. A girl about his age noticed his confusion, "Oh, you can't trust any of the clocks here." She had hair the same color as Lars' that flowed down to in a style just a bit too long to be a bob in waves. Her eyes were an interesting blue-green-yellow that seemed very familiar to him, if he could just remember, "None of them say the same thing, and there all wrong, just trust the bell."

"O-oh. T-thanks" he stuttered back. She smiled and left with the herd of students. It was as he was packing his things that Matthew noticed most of the students were wearing watches, a lot more than had at his old school. He noted this as an oddity, but at least it had an explanation, so he didn't bother questioning it.

Art was definitely Matthew's favorite class. He was taking landscape drawing/painting to get his fine arts credits. So far all they had done was start to talk about the growing structure of trees. Mr. Ginderfew believed that art was based in science; or rather that both art and science were rooted in nature, so t study one required study of the other. Actually found it quite interesting how the wind could twist and bend trees, and how roots would burrow through solid stone to get to softer earth. Of course, at the moment they were looking at the basic tree structure rather than the intricate growing patterns, but you have to start somewhere.

By the time the students were released for lunch Matthew's stomach was letting out soft gurgling noises alerting him that it was high time to eat. Matthew had the most stereotypical looking lunches one could hope for. Every morning since sixth grade he packed Tupperware containers into a brown paper bag. The same brown paper bag. He would use each bag for almost two months before it would get too worn out to use anymore. Inside his lunch however was a more varied situation. Some days Matthew would have the odd urge to become the epitome of a school lunch. It would contain a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich – cut diagonally – an apple, carrot sticks and a chocolate chip cookie. Most days however, he just used any leftovers from the night before, or, if he got up exceptionally early, would make himself a banana-Nutella-maple-syrup sandwich, and fill his lunch with a peach or strawberries, some steamed and seasoned broccoli and other things of the like. 1

To the blonde teenager his three odd . . . acquaintances(?) were hard to miss. Matthew wasn't quite sure what to call these people. He hadn't known them long enough to be considered friends, per say, but already they were closer to him than anyone else, except Im Yong Soo, but that's a story for another day. Matthew supposed acquaintance would have to do for now and walked over to the other highschoolers.2

"H-hello," Matthew greeted quietly,

"Hi Matt" "Hey," "Yeah, yeah, just sit the hell down bastard." Were the responses of his fri-acquaintances. Honestly Matthew was not expecting any of them to answer, much less hear his soft greeting, but the fact that they did made his spirit practically glow as he sat down for another relaxed, conversation filled lunch. Matthew himself still said very little and just enjoyed being with them. Even without talking too much, Matthew never felt out of place or ignored as he had when he hung out with Alfred and his friends. Matthew didn't need to learn to love it here, he already did.

_**AN: To anyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or just read this story, thank you so much. I know I promised this chapter sooner, but I have an excuse! The swing set was broken. Yes I'm serious. I write best when I'm swinging or walking because their mindless activities that occupy my body but let my brain think. It's fixed now, but I'm not sure how permanent the fix is, and because it's older than I am, it'll soon be beyond redemption. But I will try my darlings!**_

_**Now as you may have noticed there are little exponential numbers at points in this chapter. You can expect to see them in later chapters as well. That little letter means that There is some interesting tidbit about that paragraph/sentence that is not at all relevant to the story, and so will be explained in the footnote.**_

_**1: As to the obsession to his lunch, I don't really know. I was kinda hungry when I wrote it, but mostly (for some odd reason) What people eat for lunch at school is fascinating to me. I personally have had almost the same lunch for as long as I can remember. **_

**_2: Is this a word? Should it be high schoolers? high school-ers? I don't know. According to it's High schoolers, but no matter what my spell checker says it's wrong. I love my spell checker so much, and you all should to. If it wasn't for Word's automatic spell checking, so many of the words would be wrong you wouldn't be able to usnderstand the story. Just to prove my point, I didn't use the spell cheak for this sentance or the one before. Now you understand and apprecate my spell-cheker. _**


	6. The Assignment

Chapter 6: The Assignment

With a population of about 10,000, Wilmot was small, but not tiny. However since Matthew was born and raised in Seattle, Downtown looked nothing like his ideas of a downtown. The biggest difference was the general height, or lack thereof. Otherwise it was fairly normal. There were shops and restaurants, a few office buildings, and a 'fitness center' which was basically a YMAC, though Matthew was pleased, and not at all surprised, to learn it also had a hockey rink and subsequent team.

In order to "more thoroughly explore the town" Matthew and his mother went for lunch at a small café just outside downtown. It was tucked snuggly between a tea shop and a second hand store. Matthew smiled as he sipped his hot cocoa. Sunday was spent around the neighborhood, visiting the local park and lake, someplace Matthew found very calming, despite the cold.

While Matthew was not dreading Monday, he was nervous, never before had people at a school been so nice to him, and so open. He was afraid it was just a ruse and when he went back, things would be like they were before he left the States. Though really he had nothing to fear, his new life was different. There was still some time before class officially started when Lovino sat, or rather collapsed, into the chair on his left, the last in the row.

"Good morning," Matthew greeted friendly,

"What's good about it?" the Italian replied grumpily, he was definitely _not_ a morning person, and the fact that Feliciano had been up half the night giggling about who knows what did not help either. Lovino told Matthew about this and kept ranting about this was in fact not a 'good morning' and that something gave him the suspicion that the day was just going to go downhill. His rant was cut short when Mr. Nelson stood before the class and called them to attention,

"Alright my little victims," he began, not unusually, "today we're going to start a project, so you all will get partners" excited babble instantly broke out but stopped just as suddenly when Mr. Nelson continued, "Due to certain . . . issues, that resulted last time I let you pick partners," he glared at several students, "you will be assigned partners." Cue collective groan. "Now in this hat are the names of half the students in class, the other half will be called up one at a time to pick a name from the hat. He or she will be your partner, if you really want to switch with someone, come talk to me, and I may or may not approve the switch. Any questions?" from seemingly nowhere a cricket chirped "Alright then. First," he held up a sheet of paper and read, "Mikkel" a tall blonde boy with spiked hair, tall, but shorter than Lars', stood and sauntered to the front of the classroom, reached into the Mickey-Mouse-eared hat, clearly form Disney land, and pulled out a small slip of paper. He handed the slip to Mr. Nelson who read aloud, "Katyusha." Both students frowned slightly, as Mikkel went back to his seat.

This pattern went on for a bit until Lovino made a small noise of indignation. "What is it?" Matthew asked curiously.

"It's rigged." Lovino replied, scandalized, "All the kids on the list are troublemakers, while all the 'good' kids are in the hat. That sneaky bastard!" They were not the only ones talking but the kept their voices lower than they usually would. Then from the front of the class they heard Mr. Nelson say, "Matthew." Looking up they saw a boy with white hair and maroon eyes looking around the classroom. Matthew recognized him as one of the kids at his bus stop. The haughty boy was looking around the room until he caught Matthew's eye and grinned, before plopping down in his seat. The blonde looked at Lovino, who wore a pitying expression.

"Who's he?" Matthew asked casually.

"The most conceded annoying jerk ever." Lovino answered grumpily, "Gilbert." When Lovino was called up he ended up paired with Angela, a dark haired girl with bronze skin, slightly blemished by teenage acne.

"As to the project itself;" Mr. Nelson stated, "I want each pair to choose a battle of the Seven Years' war and do a project on it. The format is up to you. It can be a poster, a PowerPoint, or a short skit or video. No two pairs should do the same battle. Capeesh?" various forms of agreement were issued by the class, and the rest of the period was spent reviewing what they had already learned about the Seven Years' War.

When the bell rang it was impossible to keep the class quiet, so very few teachers even bothered trying. Mr. Nelson was not one of these few. "Are you excited to work with Angela?" Matthew asked as he was packing up his stuff, "What's she like?" Lovino shrugged,

"I guess she's ok." He muttered, "A bit like Feli- if he had a brain."

"And what's Gilbert like?" Matthew asked, remembering the description he had received earlier.

"Well, He has a huge ego, and always calls himself 'awesome', plus he's really creepy and calls his dick his 'five meters', he's also a slacker and never pays attention in class."

"So you really don't like him, huh?"

"Not one bit." _Good God, _Matthew thought, _what have I gotten into?_

The rest of the day went as expected. In art they were looking at bark patterns and how wind and other weather affected them. Mr. Ginderfew told them that every art piece should tell a story, and that the best art had hidden meaning and secret things known only by the artist and the select few they tell. Such a thing, he said, could be that the clothing someone's wearing was a favorite outfit of someone close to the artist, or that all the trees only grow in cold climates. 1

Matthew's sketchbook was slowly being filled with fanciful scenes and flowering trees. Lunch was filled with unusual comments and playful bickering. Matthew was learning a lot about his new friends, as he now felt comfortable calling them. He even let his snarky side come out to play. Very few people had seen this side of him before, not even Alfred knew how witty was.

Math wasn't particularly hard for Matthew, but he still didn't like the class. There weren't many people who did like the class, and they were few and far between, honestly who liked all those numbers and symbols that seemed completely arbitrary. The only good thing about math, as far as Matthew was concerned, was that there was only one right answer, usually at least. Matthew hated teachers that said "There are no wrong answers." And then as soon as you used that to make a well-reasoned argument against the point they were trying to make, you were suddenly exactly what you couldn't be – wrong!2

The dirty yellow bus screeched to a stop on the icy road, the doors opening to allow Matthew Ludwig and Gilbert off. Gilbert and Ludwig seemed to be bickering about a bird, but Matthew didn't pay them much attention, instead he just mad the short walk home in contemplative silence, thinking about the ton of homework he had. The bright orange door of his house swung open easily, granting Matthew access to the warmth of his home.

It was half past six when Matthew finally finished his homework and he could smell something cooking from his room. Upon entering the kitchen the teenager found his mother preparing dinner, and found himself automatically going to set the table. It took him a bit longer than it might have, seeing that he wasn't yet quite familiar with the kitchen layout, but before long the table was set.

It was shortly after they sat down to enjoy the meal when Michelle asked the question every mother and father have asked since schools were first made mandatory, "How was school today?"

"Fine" Matthew replied, upholding the scared tradition of question and answer.3

_**AN: I'm sorry this is so short and took me so long! Thank you all sosososososososo much for being so loyal to this, it means so much to me. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up because my family is going on vacation and then I start high school, wish me luck!**_

_**Super special thanks to fanfics4ever for helping me with the story. Angela is her OC Portugal. **_

_**Do you guys want a Spamano side plot? Please R+R.**_

_**Footnotes: **_

_**1: Do I seem tree obsessed? I absolutely **_**love**_** drawing trees and have no idea why, I think that Mr. Ginderfew (not a real person) shares these quirks and will be my way to vent my strange thoughts.**_

_**2: This is my sister's pet peeve. That's why she loves math. We went to the same K-8 school and one of the teachers treats everyone like second graders, she says she's super open and that everyone should use their rights and I respect your opinion, no matter what it is, but if you disagree with her than you're automatically wrong, and its like what the heck?**_

_**3: This is the sacred tradition of all school kids. We must keep it strong through the generations! I think parents have an instinctual need to ask this question even though the already k ow what the answer will most likely be.**_

_**Again thank you to all my followers, I will try to update again, but I don't know how long it will take.**_


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